


Bottleneck

by bettervillains



Series: By The Throat [1]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Whiskey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7257781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettervillains/pseuds/bettervillains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was an uncertainty in Waverly Earp’s name that had always pissed her off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottleneck

**Author's Note:**

> A quick oneshot for everyone's favorite local cop/Black Badge consultant team.
> 
> Leave it to WE to drag me out of my fic hiatus. Let's get ready to rumble.

There was an uncertainty in Waverly Earp’s name that had always pissed her off.

It wasn’t her surname, surprisingly — no, if anything, the Earp name promised years of clawing her way out of the shadows of her sisters, of her father, of what most of Purgatory considered a hokey local legend, all the while holding fast to those shreds of information she could dig up, hoarding them under her bed, behind a curtain…

No, Earp wasn’t the problem. It was the waver that bothered her. A word that meant unsteady. Unreliable. Immature.

She scowled, and downed another shot of whiskey. _Immature._ She’d show _them._

“Hope you’re not planning to drive.”

Waverly didn’t look up. She didn’t need to. 

“Not in your town, officer.”

A light shadow swept over her as Nicole Haught mounted the barstool next to her. Waverly shifted her weight so their arms were just touching, just enough for the contact to register through Nicole’s uniform shirt. If Waverly had been looking and not pouring herself another shot, she’d have seen that smile that had practically pulled her out of her own skin (and shirt) the first time they’d met. 

“To shitty Wednesdays,” Waverly declared, tipping the shot down her throat. The burn had dissipated four toasts ago. 

“Wav—”

“Uh, uh,” Waverly interrupted, pouring Nicole a drink of her own. “No talking.”

Nicole raised a brow. “You’re in fine form. Family trouble?”

“Sweetheart, my whole life is family trouble.”

Waverly tapped her glass against Nicole’s, and watched as Nicole, obediently silent, drank it slowly. Nicole had a way of performing even the most mundane tasks with finesse, grace. The slick sounds of whiskey sloshing from bottle to glasses echoed again, and again, and again, until —

“Your face is all red,” Nicole murmured, stroking her cheek. Waverly snorted, despite feeling the heat beneath her skin.

“So’s yours, don’t see me saying anything about it.” She wrinkled her nose, studying Nicole’s features. “You hair. Head hair, at least.”

Nicole smiled. “At least.”

Waverly reached for the bottle, but Nicole swept it away with ease, setting it out of reach. Waverly swiped at the air, hooked fingers not even coming close, as she groaned —

“No fair!”

“Don’t pout,” Nicole shushed. “Let’s get you home.” 

Waverly didn’t remember the drive — but there’s no way Nicole would have driven, not after drinking. Did she carry her the whole way? It seemed impossible, and yet… 

“Lot of stuff was impossible ‘fore you came along,” she muttered.

Nicole twirled the key in the lock, nudged open the door. “Hm?”

“Nothing,” Waverly replied, “Put me down.”

Nicole blinked, set her on her feet again — and then Waverly was pushing her, kissing her hard, backing her towards the bed.

“Waverly, be careful —“ she winced as one of Waverly’s shoes made contact with a corner lamp.

“I don’t want to be careful,” Waverly murmured, eyes dark. “I don’t want to be…”

She struggled to find the word, but Nicole didn’t, twining their fingers.

“There’s nothing wrong with going slow. Being… patient.”

Waverly laughed, a sharp bark of a sound that tipped her head up towards the ceiling. The moonlight, fractured through the window blinds, danced upon the expanse of her throat. 

Nicole’s toes curled against the soles of her shoes. You didn’t need a box of research to know that a determined Earp was either dangerous, or…

She licked her lips. Waverly met her eyes again. The air grew warm, like midsummer thunderheads, almost tangible between them. 

“Lock the door,” Nicole murmured, and as she pulled her shirt over her head she heard the bolt ram home, the padding of Waverly’s light steps across the floor, and the creak as she joined her on the bed. This time, it was Waverly who helped tug the shirt off her elbows, long and toned arms wound almost as tightly as the coil in her stomach, and then, at last, Nicole could see her, touch her, lean in to kiss —

A kiss that never landed. Waverly pushed her back again, pinning her arms down. Her cheeks reddened as Nicole’s eyes widened — delighted? — and then her hands darted down Nicole’s stomach, untucking her undershirt from her pants before fiddling with her belt.

“Alright, weapons grade, I’m lodging a complaint with local PD,” Waverly grunted. 

Nicole leaned up on her elbows. “It’s that notch, there — yeah, that one.”

The struggle continued for a while — first the belt, then the pants, then shoes… Waverly grunted, looking up at her, the officer still mostly dressed.

“Need some help?” Nicole asked, smiling. Coy, smug… 

Waverly nodded, jaw tight. Nicole tugged her up, thumbing her jaw. 

“I know what you want,” she murmured, “Let me give it to you.”

Waverly said nothing, biting her lip. 

“I want…”

“I know, baby.” Nicole swept her hair behind her ear, kissed her neck. She wanted to be strong. Confident. In control. “Next time.”

Waverly shuddered, nodding, fingers curling into her hair.

“Okay.” Her voice was hoarse, stripped bare by whiskey and wanting. Nicole tipped her chin up, kissed her softly, and when Waverly flicked her tongue, the shift began. 

Between heartbeats, she found herself on her back, skirt tossed aside, then blouse. This was everything like Nedley’s office, and nothing like it. Everything like her first time with Champ, and nothing like it. 

“Lift,” Nicole murmured gently, supporting her shoulders, and as Waverly pulled herself up by the headboard, Nicole unhooked the scrap of lace and wire masquerading as a bra, and tossed it aside. She resisted the urge to cover up with her arms, felt the blush blooming over her collarbone, until Nicole bent down and kissed every inch of scarlet rush across her skin. Waverly arched, a soft moan spilling from her lips, tugging at Nicole’s straps.

Nicole chuckled into her skin.

“Bossy.”

“Tit for tat,” Waverly argued, breathing hard. 

Nicole rolled her eyes, leaned back, and shrugged out of the garment — 

“Better?”

Waverly stared. A long, hard stare. Too long. Nicole shifted her weight, straddling her hips.

“Wave?”

“No talking,” Waverly, muttered, husky. “No talking, just —“

She didn’t have to finish. Nicole leaned down and kissed her. Hard. 

Waverly’s pulse quickened, the world blurring around her. There was nothing but Nicole, no sensation but that of her lips and rough fingertips on her skin, no sound but her heart thundering in her ears. She tried to reach down to touch, but Nicole smacked her hand away, laying a palm flat on her chest as she tugged the last scrap of Waverly’s clothing away —

“T-tease —“ Waverly muttered, and then, as if in acquiescence, Nicole obliged, fingertips tracing a kaleidoscope of slick bliss between her thighs — it was almost too much to handle, certainly too much to take lying down.

Waverly tried to lean up, prop herself up to kiss, but Nicole’s hand pressed harder on her chest, keeping her prone. Her breath caught, stuttering out a groan. The sheer power of her lover — _lover_ — holding her steady, keeping her still, grounded, firm — she cried out when Nicole curled a finger, loudly, then another, too loudly, and Nicole leaned closer, kissing her quiet, holding her steady when her thumb circled, when her hips arched, when it seemed she might take flight —

Waverly’s fingers found Nicole’s bare back, nails scraping, biting into her skin, hips grinding against her hand. Her eyes were black, narrow, lidded, and Nicole met her with a hard kiss, a hand that slid up her throat —

The pressure was almost negligible, not nearly hard enough to justify the gasp that erupted from Waverly’s lips — but it was enough, rough and rowdy and the burn of whiskey on the officer’s lips, the finesse of each thrust of her fingers, the dull, distant thud of the headboard against the wall — Waverly's wings melted, shattering, and for a moment she thought of some revenant being dragged into hell, and wondered if this was how it felt to be dragged into heaven. 

When Waverly, earthbound again, drew her hands away from Nicole’s back, there were flecks of blood under her nails. Nicole frowned at the bruise she’d left on her collarbone. 

“Didn’t mean to go so rough,” Nicole murmured, husky, kissing the mark. 

Waverly ran a hand through that tangle of red hair. 

“Then you best steady yourself,” Waverly smirked, “For what’s gonna happen next.”

Nicole lifted her eyes, met Waverly’s sparkling gaze. Looks like she was right:

A determined Earp could be dangerous, and she was about to find out just how much.


End file.
